


That Night

by BillieJ



Series: Gallavich shorts [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1273126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BillieJ/pseuds/BillieJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sets during the night on 4x07. Ian and Mickey finally get to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Night

**Author's Note:**

> I really couldn't wait to see what's going to happen to Ian and Mickey... To give you something to wait on here is something that was on my mind !  
> Enjoy !

Mickey barely slept that night. He was feeling sick, Ian resting on his bed, breathing so slowly, so quietly that it was almost like he was dead.

Sveltlana had fucked off to Terry's room and left him with him. The bitch knew. She gave half the fuck she could and left him with his thoughts.

Mickey's head was spinning. He felt happy, sort of. He used to stare at Ian's picture everyday and hope, dream, like a fucking bitch, that he could smell him again, see his eyes, his expressions and feel his breathe on his skin again.

There it was. He could now, couldn't he ? Except in addition of Ian's pleasant smell was a heavy alcohol one, sweat and a cherry scent reminding him of the club they left. It was awful. Ian was lying on his bed, pale and cold, sick. Broken.

Mickey clenched his fist as his vision blurred. He wiped his tears, even if others kept coming. He stroked his hair again and sighed heavily. He kept crying once in a while since Ian left (preferably after he punched something hard enough to make the tears about physical pain, even though he hadn't cried since he was 8 ). Since he told him he was leaving, it was like something broke in Mickey's chest.

He had wasted his cigarette, the thing just kept burning down to the filter as he stared at the redhead. Tossing it in the ashtray he stood up and closed himself to Ian. He grabbed him and put his head on his cushion, laying him in a more comfortable position. He took his shoes off and pulled the covers to put them on him. He couldn't help but feel his skin under his fingers as he brushed them over his cold arms.

Mickey knew he was still fucking crying but didn't even attempt to stop. He laid on his back, next to Ian and didn't even bother to wipe away his tears. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. He clenched his fists and almost choked to resist the urge he had to sob his eyes out.

He just looked beside him, and slowly passed his fingers on Ian's face, paler than he'd ever seen it. Ian sighed quietly at the contact in his sleep and Mickey lost it. He layed on his back again and just fucking cried.

Not a faggy whining cry. He just sobbed, his tears flowing down his face to his ears and wet his skin. He put his palms on his eyes and gasped a little for air.

\- Fuck, he whispered. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ian... fuck.

He harshly rubbed his eyes and sat up, wiping his face as much as he could, suppressing the sobbing hiccups that threatened to come out his throat.

He looked down to Ian and almost fell down the bed.

Ian's green eyes were staring at him. Ian wasn't saying anything, as if still high. Maybe he was, but he had sobered enough so Mickey could finally recognize his look.

\- Are..., croaked Ian. He cuffed a little, not even moving his hands, like he couldn't. Are you hurting ?

Ian's voice was awfully slow and low, like saying these three words were ripping his throat out.

Mickey laid back, facing Ian. He let everything he was feeling finally show on his face. His eyes watered again, not that he could do anything about it, and his face twisted in the most desperate expression he's ever had. He didn't even have half a pound of anger in his system, he couldn't do anything more.

\- Yeah. Yeah I'm hurting like a beaten bitch.

Then Ian blank face just transformed. His eyes watered and he was biting his lower lip so hard Mickey was kind of afraid he'd make it bleed. He brushed his thumb down Ian's lip to loosen the grip his teeth had. Ian just cried a bit more, his tired eyes flushing red.

\- I'm crazy Mickey. I... I... I'm so fucked up. I.. It hurts so bad.

Mickey didn't say anything. He couldn't. In a quick movement he got rid of his shoes and laid down the cover, seeking Ian's hand. When he found it, he put his fingers gently on his shaking palms.

\- I keep forgetting... I do fucked up crazy stuff and I'm just so fucking her...

\- Who ? whispered Mickey.

Ian's body shook and some more tears fell from his eyes.

\- Fucking who ? whispered Mickey again, grabbing Ian's hand, in a, he hoped, reassuring way.

\- Fucking Monica... whined Ian. I'm fucking Monica, I'm gay Monica, forgetful Monica, junkie Monica, runaway Monica and fucked-up crazy selfish Monica bitch !

Ian buried his face in the blanket the best he could and sobbed a little. Mickey knew about Ian's mother and he knew it was kind of genetic and shit. He bit his cheeks and brought himself closer to Ian. He just had to do something to comfort him.

He didn't know how to do that but it was -fucking- Ian. He had to, and fucking wanted to.

Mickey let go of Ian's hand and put his arm around him. The shaking and sobbing kept going a little bit and Mickey felt so desperate his eyes watered again. He didn't give a shit it was no badass and just grabbed Ian tightly and gently stroke Ian's longer red hair.

\- It'll be okay. I promise. You're not fucked up Gallagher. You're far away from fucked up, you'll be fucking fine... he muttered slowly against Ian's ear.

It lasted a few minutes until Ian was completely still. He was sleeping again and Mickey loosed his grip a little bit so he could see his face.

The whole situation was fucked-up. But this time, he'll do things really right. He'll be there, whatever the fuck was happening. His dad was in fucking prison and Svetlana fucking knew and he didn't know why but he felt he could trust her.

He'll figure things out. He couldn't let Ian leave again. He knew by now he couldn't really live without him. Beyond all the tragic, right now, Ian was warming up in his arms, in his bed, and he could feel his breathe on his neck. He felt like a huge empty hole in his chest was gradually filling and warming, after months choking and punching walls and glasses.

He felt like he could fall asleep fucking sober. So he did.

When he finally woke up, the bed was empty next to him. He jolted and jumped out of his bed. Fuck no.

He'll go after him now. No second fucking thoughts. It was his fucking problem.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed !
> 
> I also have a tumblr (http://baronneletzen.tumblr.com/) you can send me prompts :D


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